Arkham Horror RPG

Grave Rumors – Part One

2024 / 07 / 18

By SA Sidor & AP Klosky

Welcome, everyone! Today we have something a little different. For those of you eagerly awaiting the Arkham Horror RPG, we’ve teamed up with Aconyte Books to set the scene for the Hungering Abyss box with a brand-new series of short stories.

Grave Rumors follows the adventures of witty Arkham Advertiser reporter Minnie Klein as she investigates missing corpses, vandalized graveyards, and a skin-crawling stalker disturbing the rest of Arkham’s dead… Events which lead directly into the Hungering Abyss scenario. But don’t worry – it’s completely spoiler-free.

What’s more, we’ll also be making some of the newspaper stories and other artefacts from the story available as downloadable player handouts, allowing you to bring the story right into your games.

So, if you’re ready to immerse yourself in the mystery before leaping into the action for yourself, read on…

Strange Assailants Stalk Cemetery

Arkham Advertiser, September 6, 1926

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While Arkham’s cemeteries typically provide a place of quiet calm and contemplation for Arkham’s residents, recent incidents have begun to call into question security for parishioners, visitors, and employees. On the night of September 6, this reporter set out to investigate rumors of after-hours trespassers on cemetery grounds. However, after a harrowing encounter and subsequent assault, this reporter has confirmed that danger actually stalks those hallowed grounds, though its true cause remains unknown.

In the past, Arkham’s cemeteries have proven to be a place of potential peril. Most notably, a nun was assaulted by one Mr. Henri Dupont this past August in South Church churchyard. While Sister Mary did recover from her injuries, the case garnered particular notoriety due to her status within the Catholic community. Other alarming reports indicate that the graveyards in Arkham have not been safe. Due to these recent reports, this reporter initiated a new investigation starting at Christchurch Cemetery, which revealed strange going-ons dating back to earlier this year. On March 20, Arkham police deputies responded to a call for assistance put forward by a Ms. Hattie Naismith, who had claimed to see figures moving through the cemetery at night, as well as strange sounds emanating from the mausoleum in the northwest quarter of the cemetery. The official police report states that the incident was a result of animal interference, noting evidence of digging, implying that a large dog or similar animal had attempted to dig underneath the wrought-iron fencing.

Another distressing incident occurred on April 11, with Mr. James Gantree and Ms. Eliza Mantilluz calling for police, after having been accosted by a figure outside of Christchurch Cemetery earlier that evening. The pair were returning to Ms. Mantilluz’s apartment following a late dinner out, and the duo had elected to cross through the cemetery grounds to save time. As the pair exited the graveyard, Mr. Gantree claimed to have spotted a “hunched figure with long, lanky arms” staring at them from behind a copse of trees. When Mr. Gantree called out to the individual, Gantree claims, the figure “started growling” and appeared to attempt a reply, though Gantree stated that the voice was too low and bestial to hear a clear response. Gantree attempted to get closer to the figure, only for it to dash away to points unknown. At Ms. Mantilluz’s insistence, the pair contacted Arkham police and filed an official report. After a brief search of the cemetery grounds, the deputy on duty noted no unusual activity. While a follow-up visit was scheduled by Arkham police, no evidence exists to document such a visit.

Police records showed similar incidents—noise disturbances, menacing behavior by unknown parties, and minor property damage to Christchurch’s grounds throughout the late spring and summer. However, Arkham’s police deputies have displayed an alarmingly lackadaisical approach in investigating any sort of disturbance at Christchurch Cemetery. Mandatory police documentation on these calls records a boilerplate response, stating that: “deputy patrolled the area in question, finding no evidence of continued disturbances.” These documents were identical, regardless of the responding deputy, leading this reporter to believe that the response reflects department policy, rather than a proper investigation of the facts.

Given these findings, this reporter began her own investigation of the Christchurch Cemetery. A planned interview with William Yorick, Christchurch Cemetery’s resident gravedigger, to discuss disturbances in the cemetery ended abruptly when this reporter caught sight of a mysterious figure – no doubt the person terrorizing the cemetery grounds. After chasing this mysterious figure, this reporter noticed new figures digging frantically in the graveyard, which aligns with previous reports. However, before being able to investigate further, this reporter experienced a blow to the head, losing consciousness. 

Thanks to the beneficence of Mr. Yorick, this reporter was discovered in an empty grave and was escorted to St. Mary’s Hospital for treatment and observation. Following initial triage, this reporter was quickly released from St. Mary’s hospital, having suffered a scalp laceration, a possible concussion, and blood loss. While this reporter did file a report with Arkham police, no action appears to have been taken regarding this assault. Mr. Yorick has given no official statement, at this time.

While this reporter has yet to return to Christchurch Cemetery following these incidents, investigation into these strange occurrences will continue until answers are revealed and perpetrators are brought to light. Until then, however, this reporter recommends avoiding Christchurch Cemetery by night and taking alternative routes when available.

Grave Rumors Part One: The Vanished

Minnie Klein started having second thoughts around the time she pulled her maroon Ford Model T Runabout into the graveyard’s lower parking area. Hers was the only car in the cobblestone lot. That figured. Not many people visited the dead after dark. She parked and lifted the flashlight off the passenger seat, switching it on to test the beam, then aiming it at the blue steel hands and black numbers of her wristwatch. 

Ten minutes to midnight. She was early for her interview.  

Shining ahead, the Ford’s headlamps revealed trees, shrubbery, and an old stone fence. Slightly beyond, several eroded white shapes stooped, tilting toward the ground. These were headstones. The corner of the parking lot dropped off, but a gravel path continued downhill through an opening in the fence. According to William Yorick’s instructions, Minnie was to take that path, turning right at the first fork, left at the next split, and left again, until she reached their meeting place – the groundskeeper’s shed. Yorick was the gravedigger here, and Minnie wanted to talk to him about a story she was working on. As a reporter for the Arkham Advertiser, she’d done a host of strange things in peculiar places, and now she could add this excursion to her list. 

Switching off the engine, sitting in the abrupt silence, she felt her heart thumping. Through the windshield, the moon painted surfaces with a watery, pale silver wash, but underneath its glow, the darkness ruled, thick and gooey, like tar. The electric lighting inside the graveyard was limited to a few lampposts casting pools of hazy light that enhanced the murk surrounding them. Minnie hadn’t really thought about it until driving over, but graveyards became different places after sunset. A parcel of land, that in the wholesome daylight hours might appear to be peaceful, transformed into an eerie landscape after visiting hours ended. 

But reporters weren’t known for keeping to a normal schedule. You worked the story, whenever and wherever it took you. Yorick said he was too busy digging (and filling) holes during the day to speak with her. When he suggested on the telephone that they meet at midnight, her first thought was that he must be joking. But he wasn’t. The man sounded serious – gravely so, she’d thought with a crooked smile. He said he’d be awake, working the nightshift, pulling guard duty to protect the property and its guests. If she stopped by, he’d do his best to answer her questions.  

Minnie drew a deep breath. The air tasted of earth. “All right, Minnie, let’s get moving,” she told herself. “Big news stories don’t write themselves.” She exited the car with flashlight in hand.

Call her a bit strange, but if anyone had bothered to ask, Minnie Klein would’ve said she liked graveyards. She wasn’t morbid, not exactly. She didn’t take an extreme or unhealthy interest in the dead. It was only because cemeteries were chock full of juicy tales that she found them so intriguing. Wasn’t uncovering buried secrets the bread and butter of her profession? 

When she slammed the car door, it sounded like a gunshot, causing her to jump and then laugh at her own jitters. Her reaction emphasized how outside the ordinary this visit was, and how alone she was. Minnie proceeded along the path. Her flashlight bounced with every step, throwing disorienting arcs into the greenery and shadows. As the trail dipped, she sensed the temperature fall, and a shiver scaled up her back. The cool night air smelled of damp stone and flowers, mostly roses and lilies. Their odor felt cloying, interwoven with a sickly-sweet thread of decay. But Minnie smelled something else floating in the sepulchral atmosphere, and it was a bouquet that would make any reporter’s body hum – the aroma of front-page material. If this story turned out to be as big as she suspected, people would have to sit up and take notice.

Minnie might not be the most famous reporter on the Arkham Advertiser staff, that title surely went to Rex Murphy. But she saw herself as climbing, rung by slippery rung, the ladder of success. She knew she had talent. Her editors confirmed that. She could write a snappy lead, hook the readers, draw them into the details of her stories. Petite and curvaceous, the brunette reporter with the Clara Bow bob often surprised people who made the mistake of underestimating her. That was fine with Minnie. While conducting interviews, she possessed a real knack for getting folks to spill the beans. But what set her apart from most of her colleagues was her doggedness: an unstoppable drive to find the truth. When a topic snagged her interest, she would sink her claws in, refusing to let go until she got to the bottom of things. Which had led her to this sacred place of the dead, where rumor had it that lately and without any known explanation, bodies were mysteriously disappearing. She needed to know why. 

Thus, the necessity of interviewing William Yorick. First, she had to find the man.

Minnie tried to walk as quickly as possible as she trekked deeper into the graveyard, but heels and gravel were not a match made in heaven. She had decided to dress in the same clothes she would have worn to talk to any local Arkham bureaucrat, hoping that she wouldn’t intimidate Yorick but still show him that she took her job as seriously as he did his.

She passed a bushy tree and resisted the urge to shine her light at it. This story of the missing bodies she’d been putting together was creepy enough. Her imagination didn’t need more fuel. Glowing eyes and skittering shadows hidden among the leaves wouldn’t help. Minnie knew this much already: something was happening to Arkham’s dead. From the city’s mortuaries to its cemeteries, shenanigans were afoot. Reports of stolen bodies. Lost corpses. Body parts turning up in places where no human remains should ever be found. And it wasn’t only the dead who might be at risk. An alarming uptick in missing persons cases had been reported, although the cops were cagey whenever the subject arose. Minnie had a feeling – call it a reporter’s nose for news – that these disappearances were all somehow connected. 

“Right. Left, then left again.” Minnie reminded herself of Yorick’s directions.

Her first turn was up ahead. So were a lot more headstones. She couldn’t ignore them. It was as if they were standing witness to her parade through the grounds. She turned right, quickening her pace. Left, then left again. She made the second turn, passing under a canopy of clawing branches. Fewer lampposts here. Or maybe they weren’t working. It seemed darker.

Minnie kept the light, and her eyes, trained on the path. Ahead was an iron gate. It had been left partly open. A heavy padlock hung, unclosed, from a length of rusty chain. She entered. 

The final left turn was in front of her.

Gnarled roots appeared to have slithered up to the path like a nest of hungry vipers, where they waited. She took the turn, and her beam fell upon a small ramshackle wooden shelter. The door stood ajar. 

A wavering light burned inside.

“Mr Yorick?” Minnie said, her voice sounding both too quiet and too loud to her ears. 

There was no reply.

She crept forward, adjusting her grip on the flashlight in case she needed to use it as a club. “Hello, William Yorick? It’s Minnie Klein from the Arkham Advertiser. Anybody home?”

Again, nothing.

She nudged the door with her foot. It swung creakily inward.

There was no one inside the shed. Minnie didn’t know what level of cleanliness was normal for a groundskeeping building, but the state of this one looked in an absolute shambles, as if it had been ransacked. Picks and shovels lay in a higgledy-piggledy pile at the center of the room. There was a desk to the right, inside the doorway. All the drawers had been pulled out and dumped onto the desk, before being cast aside. Some of the contents had spilled to the floor. A kerosene lantern sat on the desk, hissing. Beside the desk stood a steel cabinet with its door handles twisted open and deformed. Minnie shone her flashlight inside: a collection of muddy boots, a pair of denim overalls on a hook, and a shelf holding a hammer, loose nails, and a box of rat poison. Rolls of tarp, stacked bags of weedkiller and fertilizer, and an array of gardening tools hanging from a pegboard – all undisturbed – filled out the remaining three walls. Curious, she thought after assessing the situation. Other than the digging tools and the badly messed-up cabinet handles, the chaos seemed confined to the desk area.

Minnie glanced at her watch. Five after midnight. Where the heck was William Yorick?

As that question hovered in her mind, she heard the oddest thing.

A howl. 

Not a dog. Or, at least, not any dog she’d been around. She might’ve guessed it came from a wolf, but she’d never heard a wolf howl, and there were no wolves in New England.

The distressing call prickled the hairs on the back of her neck. She didn’t have time to decipher its possible source before a second sound commanded her attention: a rough scraping, as if a sharp object were being dragged slowly and deliberately across wood. Minnie aimed her flashlight beam across the shed – that’s where the sound was coming from – something, or someone, was scratching along the shed’s outer wall. She didn’t think twice. Minnie was outside the door and around the corner of the building with her flashlight in hand, rushing to see what was making that noise. If it was a dog, well, it would probably be more afraid of her than she was of it. If it wasn’t afraid and decided to chase her, she’d go back to the shed and slam the door. No stray dog out hunting for scraps was going to scare her off this investigation.

She wheeled around the corner. The exterior of the shed was free of trees and bushes, so the scraping wasn’t coming from a branch blowing in the wind, and there wasn’t any wind. She rounded the final corner, expecting to solve the puzzle. The wall in question was on her left.

No dog. 

Nothing. Just a strip of mowed grass separating the shed from a chest-high stone fence.

Minnie navigated the narrow side yard, aiming her beam at the shed wall, looking for clues. Then she found what she’d been looking for staring back at her at eye level: four fresh, ragged furrows in the siding. She gasped. For all the world, it looked as if a huge beastly claw had raked the shed. A howl, and now a claw. Yeah, that’s not good, Minnie, she thought. Part of Minnie’s brain was saying get out of there, march back – right turn, then right again, and take a left – hop into her Model T and go home, but another, stronger part of Minnie’s brain kept telling her to stay put and figure out a logical solution for what she was seeing. This wasn’t a wolf. Might it be a dog? Maybe. But not likely. So, who or what was left on the list of suspects…?

SNAP!

Minnie spun around. The noise she’d heard was a twig breaking on the ground. She didn’t need to guess who stepped on it, because she saw a person too. She couldn’t make out if it was a man or a woman. But the stone fence was low enough that Minnie could see over the top, and what she saw was someone retreating into the shadows, heading toward rows of headstones and assorted marble monuments. Minnie’s energy was up. So was her anger. Because she was convinced that she knew the identity of the person who was hiding out behind the shed, howling like a wolfman and carving nasty-looking grooves into the siding at midnight.

It had to be Yorick.

He was the only one who knew about their meeting. He’d invited her to the graveyard at this ominous hour. Yet when she arrived to speak with him, he was nowhere to be found. 

Except he was there. In his own way, he’d kept the appointment – the big jerk! 

Minnie fumed. Obviously, he thought this whole thing was a joke, taking her for a fool, a total maroon. She could hear him now, jawing to the boys down at the dive bar: “Oh, she’s just a silly woman reporter chasing headlines.” This guy Yorick, whom she’d never laid eyes on, evidently had decided to teach her a lesson by pranking her, ready to share a belly laugh with his buddies later, after he’d scared the living daylights out of the lady writer. “Hardy-har-har…” 

Well, she wasn’t about to let him get away with it. 

Minnie had enough fury boiling up inside her to consider leaping that stone fence. But she didn’t need to. As it turned out, there was a hole in the wall. Walking past the first time, she’d missed it, but now her light found the V-shaped gap where a few loose stones had toppled to the other side. That’s where the prankster must’ve snuck out – Yorick the Shadow who liked to spook strangers.

She went after him.

“Hey! I see there you, pal!” she called out.

He moved away rapidly. But of course, he did. He worked here and probably knew every root and gopher hole. Yorick could walk the grounds with his eyes shut and not trip. Minnie had her flashlight. She picked up her pace. But the lawn was uneven, full of divots and slick patches. 

“There’s no use running. I’m onto you, and your little games!” she said.

Minnie emerged on a pathway with firmer footing.

But Yorick was out of sight.

Immediately ahead loomed a gray mausoleum. Creeping vines and lichens invaded its bricks. She walked up and tried the door. Locked. She peered through a grubby porthole of red stained glass in the middle of the door. Darkness. Yorick didn’t have time to slip in there. And she hadn’t heard a door open or close. No, he must’ve gone somewhere else. She returned to the path and followed it as it snaked down a slope and around a bend. When things started to look familiar, Minnie realized she’d been this way before. I’m walking in circles, she thought. In fact, she wasn’t far from the parking lot. All she needed to do was turn around and she could easily leave. But she didn’t. Instead, she plunged forward. The slippery gravel crunched underfoot. It was like walking on a beach of broken shells. A lamppost glowed ahead – gauzy fog, or mist, swirled in the air like a net trying to catch a golden orb. She scuffled her way underneath the lamp back into darkness. Soon her light fell upon something that she hadn’t really expected to find: two humps of black, clammy dirt rising like a pair of whales from a moonlit sea of grass.

That stopped her cold. Her breath caught in her throat.

She played the light around, searching.

The soil looked freshly dug. It still had fat, pink earthworms wiggling in and out of chunks of sod. Other things littered the ground between the mounds: splinters of wood as big as stakes and pieces of torn clothing. What was this? What exactly was going on here?

Taking slow steps, Minnie got closer, until she saw the holes.

Two open graves. The excavations weren’t neat or rectangular. They were more like pits, like something an animal might do, burrowing down, scooping and dragging out the sand and clay and bits of organic plant matter… but digging for what? Minnie contemplated where she was at this moment and why she was here, the rumors of vile graverobbers and worse. Bones? Was somebody digging for bones? She inched up to the twin holes. Their sides revealed no tool marks. It was then she noticed the mashed-down grass, evidence of footprints stamped into the turf. They were large but indiscernible. They might be manmade, they might not. Was she overreacting? That thought ran through her head. All things considered, she was alone in a graveyard after midnight, and she had a writer’s imagination. Could these graves simply be Yorick’s unfinished work from earlier in the day? A couple of new resting places in a crude state of preparation? She reached the edge of the first pit, shining her light to the bottom.

And she saw the answer.

A grave, that much was certain, because she could see a coffin, or what was left of it. The box that had once housed a dearly departed Arkhamite lay smashed to smithereens, its white pine boards split apart or ripped free. She checked the other pit, and it was the same. Turning, she flashed her beam over the shards that she’d discovered between the mounds – those long pieces came from the shattered coffin lids. But the bodies inside the coffins were gone.

She’d found the proof she’d been looking for. Someone was stealing bodies in the city of Arkham, violating its cemeteries and graveyards, at least this one. Minnie cursed at herself for not bringing the little Leica 35mm camera she’d just picked up for this purpose. But tonight was supposed to be an interview, a bit of fact-gathering, and she felt that William Yorick might not want his picture taken. Mostly, she worried about being disrespectful to the dead. If these were her family members whose graves had been defiled, their bodies taken to serve unimaginable purposes, wouldn’t she be offended to see photos? Didn’t the dead deserve better?

Still, it would’ve made a great addition to her story. Front page stuff.

Minnie felt gooseflesh on her arms and a tingle at the back of her neck that came when someone was watching her. She moved her light among the twisted trunks of trees and ranks of grave markers. She couldn’t be certain, but she sensed glimpses of sudden, quick movement, blurs that her beam was a fraction of a second too late to catch. She wasn’t imagining them. They kept appearing in the corners of her eyes. A shadow flitted across a headstone. A dark streak went stretching from tree to tree. Then a horrible thought slid into her mind. Did the person she’d seen fleeing from behind the shed lure her this way? Was this a trap?

She considered calling out to Yorick again, but she wasn’t as sure as before.

From somewhere nearby came the noise of vigorous digging, but not with a shovel. It sounded too chaotic. Too animalistic. She heard grunts and tight little squeals of frustration. Or were they whelps of delight? This was no man she was hearing. It wasn’t Yorick. Something else was out here in the night with her. But she couldn’t put a name to it, not yet. Minnie switched off her flashlight and waited for her eyes to adjust. Using only the moonlight, she moved cautiously toward the sounds. Scrape and crunch. Thumps as dislodged clods of earth were hitting the grass. 

They were in the next row of headstones – that’s where the sounds were coming from. 

Minnie duckwalked forward, careful where she placed her feet, lifting her head only as high as it took to peek between the markers. The diggers were growing frantic. Their nails scratched. Minnie thought she detected teeth snapping together and guttural growls of exertion.

She lifted her head to peek over a headstone decorated with a winged cherub.

Her eyes grew wide with terror. The shock of what she witnessed felt almost surreal. 

She counted four diggers. Two at the edge of the half-unearthed burial plot, plus two in the ever-deepening hole. They resembled outsized hounds. But there was something uncanny about their lithe, muscular forms – the bony spines and the way their silky-smooth coats glistened as they flexed in the gloom. Their proportions seemed off. But it was difficult to judge things under the conditions. Busy at work, digging, hunched down on all fours, the houndlike creatures appeared almost simian from certain angles. Their pointy, bristly ears twitched…

The closest one stopped, lifted its long face from the grave, and turned up its nose.

Sniff, sniff… 

It tasted the air. Its head moved from side to side, gathering samples, vapors, aromas.

Sniff, sniff, sniff…

Minnie could hear it drawing in the night’s perfume. She tried to remain motionless. 

The glowing eyes of the creature locked on hers. It had caught her scent and seen her, too. But what it did next astonished her. It stood up. On two legs like a person. Except it wasn’t a person. 

It was a monster.

Minnie recoiled. Her legs felt as if the bones had changed to water. Slowly, too slowly, she backed away. But she couldn’t look away. It was too frightening. Too unbelievable. She staggered farther, bumping into a headstone without looking down, pushing off it to propel herself along. She wanted to scream, but no sound escaped her lips. She willed herself to run, but the ground gave way beneath her feet, and she dropped into a void of stunning and total black.

Minnie awoke with a start and tasted blood in her mouth. Without thinking, her hand went to her head, where she felt a stinging pain. Her fingers came away wet, sticky. Ow, that hurts, she thought, gingerly touching a small cut at her hairline. Alive and not too badly broken as far she could tell, but she couldn’t see anything in the dark. The smell enveloping her was putrid and fruity. She gagged while her fingers searched in vain for the flashlight. She was lying on top of something hard and uneven that dug into her ribcage. How did I get here? And where was here?

Suddenly there was a bright light all around her.

“Are you the graverobber who’s been profaning this holy place?” a voice asked.

“What?” She was having trouble putting things together. The light blinded her.

“I said, ‘Are you a graverobber?’”

“No,” she said.

“Then what are you?”

Minnie looked up to where the voice was coming from, but all she saw was lost in dazzle.

“Get that light out of my eyes,” she said. “Where am I?”

“Don’t you know?” The voice sounded incredulous and amused.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.” Minnie’s head ached. She’d jammed her shoulder too.

“‘Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs.’ That’s Shakespeare,” the voice went on.

“Well, I’m Minnie Klein of the Arkham Advertiser. How nice to meet you.” She was regaining her senses, and with them came the horrible realization of her circumstances. She gazed in revulsion at the broken coffin lid under her, and the taffeta lining and small satin pillow covered with gray hairs that certainly hadn’t come from her brunette head. “Get me out of here!”

The light pulled back, and a rough hand replaced it, reaching for her. Minnie grasped the hand. She was lifted out of the grave onto the lawn beside a bearded, rustic-looking man with longish hair and an intense gaze. His brow furrowed with worry as he checked her for injuries.

“You’re the reporter,” he said with surprise.

“And you must be William Yorick.” Minnie brushed her skirt, trying to salvage a crumb of dignity. She glanced into the grave. There was no corpse at least, only the odor of one. “Could you get me my flashlight. I dropped it when I…” Minnie made a tumbling motion with her hand. 

“Oh, certainly,” Yorick said, before jumping in to retrieve the light.

That gave Minnie a few seconds to stand and test her legs. He’d left a kerosene lantern at the edge of the grave, at her feet, and the angle of its rays cast fearsome shadows among the headstones. She recalled with a rush what had driven her into that hole, and she searched for any signs of the doglike creatures. But there were none. For that she was thankful, if a bit confused.

Yorick popped out of the grave and returned her light. “You ought to watch where you’re stepping. We’ve got more holes than usual.” His eyes narrowed at her. “What’re you doing walking around here? Are you bad with directions? My shed is up the hill thataway, like I said.”

“I went to the shed,” Minnie answered sharply. “You weren’t there.”

Yorick looked embarrassed. “I thought I saw someone lurking about. We’ve got a problem with intruders tearing up the grounds. Well, you’ve seen it up close, haven’t you? They desecrate graves. Steal bodies! What’s worse than disturbing the dead? Boils my blood, it does.”

“I can understand.” I must be a sight, Minnie thought. Dirty as a potato, and bleeding.

“Yeah, sorry about missing you. I was out having a looksee. It’s lucky I found you!”

Minnie couldn’t help but keep watch on the row of headstones where she’d witnessed the diggers. Quick glances at Yorick further revealed a strong fellow with a shovel as well as a lantern.

“We should go back to the shed,” Yorick said. “It isn’t safe.”

“I’m with you,” Minnie said. “The quicker I get away from here, the better.” She wasn’t ready to tell Yorick, or anyone, what she’d seen, or to speculate about what those things were.

“Gads! Look what they’ve done, those miscreants!” Yorick shouted, viewing the shed’s disarray.

“This is how I found it,” Minnie said, pulling up the only chair in the room. She was still dizzy, and while her shoulder felt better, her backside was going to be bruised tomorrow.

“They tricked me.” Yorick snapped his fingers. “Enticed me out so they could vandalize the office.” He sifted through the mess on his desk, shaking his head in disgust. “Unbelievable. They swiped all the transfer documents. What a pain that’s going to be to sort out.”

“Transfer documents?” Minnie had her reporter’s notebook in hand. She wet her pencil.

Yorick nodded. “There’s paperwork that comes with every new arrival. I don’t know why thieves would pilfer a stack of worthless paper. Makes my job harder, though, I’ll tell you that much. And it’s been hard enough lately with all the mistakes I’ve been finding.”

Minnie was jotting notes. “What sort of mistakes?”

“Regarding the bodies… names don’t match. Spaces are left blank on forms. I’ve even received empty coffins. Do they think I’m not going to notice? Don’t print that. I’m not blaming people. It’s only St Mary’s Hospital that’s gotten so bad about it. I shouldn’t care so much, but I do.” Yorick picked up the debris from the floor, and then he started putting all the tools back.

“Who’s running the show over at St Mary’s?” Minnie asked.

“They’ve got a couple morticians. But all the discrepancies are on Ruth Turner’s sheets.”

“Ruth. Turner.” Minnie wrote down the name.

“You didn’t hear that from me,” Yorick said. “It’s true. But I don’t want any trouble.”

“I’ll keep it anonymous,” Minnie said. “What sort of trouble?” 

“I’m just a gravedigger. The medical types don’t want to hear complaints from me.”

Minnie tapped her pencil, wondering how much she should share with Yorick. He seemed decent, and obviously he cared about his job. In the end, she couldn’t resist asking him. 

“You ever get a good look at any of the intruders? You know, here in the graveyard?”

“No,” he said. “Haven’t had the pleasure. They’ve proved to be too elusive for me.”

“Well, I saw them.”

Yorick stopped cleaning. He came up close to her. All the casual cheeriness was gone from him. This was a man who wanted answers, just like her. “Who were they? Youngsters?”

“I know this sounds hard to believe. But they were… some kind of… creatures.”

“Creatures?” Yorick’s faced screwed up with skepticism. “You mean wild animals?”

Minnie hoped she hadn’t shared too much. But in for a penny, in for a pound. “They sort of looked like these huge hounds with big muscles. But then, when they caught my scent, one of them stood upright like a person does. And its face… it was dark, but its face was unnatural…”

“Dark, you say. The shadows play games with your eyes. I know it. I’ve thought I’ve seen things too, late at night and alone, but when I get up the nerve and bring my lantern, it’s nothing but a bunch of leaves or a part of statue that’s fallen off in a storm. The daylight cleans away all the hogwash that in the night confuses the mind.” He seemed to have satisfied himself.

“It wasn’t hogwash,” Minnie said, tartly, growing angry with him. “I know what I saw.”

“You hit your head. That’ll give you mixed up thoughts.” Yorick went back to work.

Minnie stood up. “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t care if you believe me or not. I saw these… these things crawling around on all fours, scraping out those graves. But they weren’t dogs or wolves–”

“There’s no wolves in New England,” Yorick said, shaking with a silent laugh.

“I know that!” Minnie’s head was splitting as she protested loudly. “I’m saying it wasn’t a wolf. Or a dog. Or human. But it was coming after me. That’s when I ran and fell in the grave.”

“Makes a good story,” Yorick said, smiling, giving her a knowing sidelong glance.

“What does that mean? Are you calling me a liar?”

“It means, we all must make a living. I dig holes. You write stories, so…”

“I report stories! I don’t make them up.” Minnie drew right up to him, toe to toe, wagging her flashlight, ready to defend her profession. Yorick raised his hands, backing away in mock terror. Then his expression hardened, as if he thought she might be physically attacking him, which she wasn’t. And he retreated in earnest. As he did, Minnie glimpsed movement in the shed’s only window. She hadn’t noticed the window before, because the panes were buried under dusty cobwebs and shadows, and barred over with iron, and that made it disappear into the wall.

But now her light revealed a face in the window. The staring face of woman. A redhaired woman who seemed as startled and openmouthed as Minnie in this moment of mutual discovery.

Minnie screamed.

Yorick said, “I was only joking! Do what you like with your stories. I don’t care.”

The face vanished from the window. Minnie didn’t have time to explain things to Yorick. She ran out of the shed, hearing Yorick behind her yelling, “All you reporters must be crazy!”

The fleeing woman took the same path as the previous lurker had outside the shed, but she wasn’t as quick or surefooted. Minnie thought, I’m going to catch this one! She pursued her through the gap in the stone wall, not bothering to shout, saving her breath for the chase. The woman glanced over her shoulder. Minnie saw the pale face and the red hair flying as she ran.

They were among the tombstones and monuments now. Yorick’s shed wasn’t visible anymore. The woman was running less than thirty feet ahead of her, when a shape stepped out from behind a tall, black obelisk and blocked Minnie from going forward. She dove sideways with her last stride, nearly crashing into a block of marble with a prominent Arkham citizen’s name chiseled across its front and the accompanying inscription: HE THAT BELIEVES HAS EVERLASTING LIFE.

Minnie shone her light on the shape who’d intercepted her. It was a person in a costume. They wore a cloak of red. A mask made from an animal’s horned skull hid its face. It was awful. 

The silent figure slowly approached, reaching for her with outstretched arms. 

Minnie’s mind fled. Her only thought was, “Run, run, run.”

This time she saw the open grave. The disinterred coffin had been fully excavated and rested on the grass, but it was still sealed. Seeing the hole didn’t mean Minnie avoided pitching headlong into it. Her momentum was too great. She tried jumping over, but instead, she went in.

Landing on her feet, she turned quickly to keep an eye on the void above, to see if the cloaked person would follow her into the pit. That thought made her quake with fear. She aimed her light upward, wondering briefly if Yorick would appear again, but knowing that he likely had stayed in his shed tidying up, thinking Minnie was obsessed with her own newsworthy fantasies.

Something did appear at the grave’s edge. It wasn’t Yorick. A vision made of red velvety robes, a cold bone mask, and devilish, spiral horns peeked over the rim of the pit and tilted its head from one side to the other, studying her. Minnie wanted to scream, to cry out for Yorick, for anyone who might hear, but no words would come. Her mind felt oddly calm and benumbed. Standing at the bottom of the grave, terrified beyond speech, she had the sudden urge to sleep.

She fought it. That drunken, hazy aura wrapped her up like a hot, wool blanket. She stared at the skull face… and felt herself swaying, as if to a tune she did not consciously hear.

“Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?” she asked.

The masked figure remained silent.

If the figure wouldn’t speak, then she would. 

“Listen, Mr or Mizz Whoever-you are, I’m a reporter. For the Arkham Advertiser!” Her words sounded tired, slurred. “You want to see yourself splashed all over the front page? Well, do you? Then keep it up! You’re desecrating holy ground and… defiling the dead! There, I said it. You aren’t allowed to do these things! There are consequences in life. You can’t go around being, you know, so… disrespectful.” She’d said her piece, not that it seemed to matter.

The enrobed one peered down at her, looming like a monster, or a god.

Minnie waited. “Say something!” 

It chuckled softly at her before returning to wherever it had come from in the night.

Check back next Monday for the next installment of Grave Rumors.

Arkham Horror – The Roleplaying Game Starter Set – Hungering Abyss will be out on August 2, 2024.

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